A Few Days in Las Vegas 3
by sarapals with past50
Summary: Sara visits Las Vegas for the first time. Follow-up to A Few Days and Another Few Days. Continues as all fluff, just for fun.
1. Chapter 1

_The continued story to A Few Days and Another Few Days--this time Sara goes to Las Vegas. _

_We do not own any of these characters; just making up a little fiction of our own for fun. _

**A Few Days in Las Vegas**

**Chapter 1**

Sara worked on the skull and the bones. She found an expert in Alabama, formerly from San Francisco, who spent hours talking to her, even suggesting she send the skull to him. He provided names of other anthropologists who had experiences in identification of skeletal remains.

"Teeth," he suggested. "Dental eruptions, lines on teeth, anomalies in teeth can be used to establish age, medical treatments, even what was in the drinking water." He cautioned her about expecting too much, then said "Don't give up!"

Her boss gave her space to work telling her not to get her hopes up. Then he helped analyze soil samples, called several sheriffs' offices to get missing person's lists, even the vineyard owner to ask if Sara could return. She worked her scheduled hours and stayed late to work on her bones, not every day, just most days, off the clock.

Grissom called her everyday, and the box of bones gave him reason to call her during work. Just as she had suggested, the skull was female. Age was more difficult to determine. A scan done as a favor estimated death between 1970 and 1990—twenty years, and an approximate age between twenty-five and forty.

Sara called more police and sheriffs departments, getting promises to send their lists of missing persons. She got names of dentists covering several counties and began calling each one, getting little information from busy offices. She drove back to the vineyard to take photographs, learning more about its history and spending time with the owner's records going back forty years. She took copious notes, meticulous about her data and organization.

With only the skull, teeth, and small bones, everyone told her it would be almost impossible to determine much—unless she got lucky with dental records. She turned to the rings and learned much about metals and stones, but nothing about two very nondescript gold rings similar to those sold at low cost by the hundreds.

Grissom asked every week for her to visit Las Vegas; every week, one or the other worked doubles, or was on call, or a case required overtime. Days passed until another page turned on the calendar.

"Come this weekend. I want to show you Las Vegas," he said, pleading with her to visit.

Another two weeks passed before both could arrange mutual days off. Sara found a cheap ticket on a gambling flight arriving in the middle of the night.

Grissom was no where to be found. Sara had checked baggage claim twice; she had returned to the gate thinking they had passed each other. Briefly, she thought about paging him, but decided to wait outside—until she stepped outside and felt the heat. She stepped back inside, certain he had not forgotten her; work or traffic had delayed him, she thought.

She found a bench—she had two telephone numbers, no idea what kind of car he drove other than a blue one, no real concept of how large Las Vegas was, or how far he was from the airport. The airport did seem to be in the middle of the city because a lot of passengers were pointing to familiar lights and landmarks as they landed.

Forty-five minutes passed before she decided to call his home number, of course, getting no answer. She retrieved her coin from the coin return and went back to the bench. Checking her watch, she decided to wait another fifteen minutes before calling the work number. Twenty minutes pass as she watched arrivals and departing passengers in the terminal. The arriving passengers were much happier than departing ones. Everyone was not striking it rich at the slots or tables.

Sara saw Grissom weaving around slow-moving tourists and suitcases looking worried. He grinned when she waved. She was not sure who was first to reach out but immediately wondered why it had taken so many weeks for her to reach this spot.

"How was your flight? Are you hungry? I'm sorry I'm late. I was stuck on a scene and traffic was bad." He grabbed her bag. "I'm right out front."

His official vehicle was at the curb, flashers blinking. Once inside, he turned to her. "Sara, I have to return to the scene—twenty minutes south of here. I—I should be finished in another hour or so." He had taken her hand. "I can take you to my place or you could go with me. I'm working alone."

His eyebrow arched and she knew the answer he wanted. "I'll go with you."

Her introduction to Las Vegas was a long ride in slow traffic from the airport leaving bright lights of casinos and hotels behind her as they drove south. Grissom described the strangulation murder of a female, age forty-five, in her home. Her husband had found her upon returning home from work. By the time the police, the coroner, the crime scene investigators arrived, neighbors, friends and relatives were in the house.

Hours of collecting evidence, Grissom said, and a double murder across town had taken everyone in that direction and he kept working with two rooms remaining. "One hour, two max, and I should be finished. Promise."

They talked about the skull and bones and people she had talked to about it. She had a list of missing persons from two counties; none looked promising. She had spread her search radius to include five more counties. "Of course" she explained, "no one has good records back to the 1970s. It's as if everyone who disappeared just left of their on accord."

Grissom told of one case of three skulls found buried in a basement in the east. Months later, anthropologists determined that all three were "war souvenirs" from World War Two, kept on a shelf for years, until one day the wife decided to bury them in the basement, found by a new owner a decade later. He laughed as he told the story. "Your man in Alabama was the person who got it right. Tracked down the widow in a retirement home and heard the story."

"How do you know this?" Sara asked.

"Heard him at a conference." He said. "You are keeping notes? You can write this up for a conference, seminar, even a journal article."

She laughed. "Only if we find who this was! And the guy with the letters behind his name gets the recognition, not a low level investigator."

He turned into a driveway. Yellow tape surrounded the house and yard and one lone policeman got out of his car.

"Hey, Chuck. I brought help. Should take another hour." Grissom greeted the man. The man touched his cap and returned to his car.

The house was dark and Grissom handed a flashlight to Sara. "Body was in the bedroom back there. I need to finish the bathroom and the kitchen."

"Tell me what to do."

Grissom passed her gloves. "You can watch."

"If I help, unofficially, you will finish sooner. I can lift fingerprints. I can bag evidence you find. Anything I do, you need to sign." She snapped on the gloves. "Powder? Or evidence bag?"

He smiled. "Stay with me."


	2. Chapter 2

**A Few Days in Las Vegas Chapter 2**

Her introduction to Las Vegas was a long ride in slow traffic from the airport leaving bright lights of casinos and hotels behind her as they drove south. Grissom described the strangulation murder of a female, age forty-five, in her home. Her husband had found her upon returning home from work. By the time the police, the coroner, the crime scene investigators arrived, neighbors, friends and relatives were in the house.

Hours of collecting evidence, Grissom said, and a double murder across town had taken everyone in that direction and he kept working with two rooms remaining. "One hour, two max, and I should be finished. Promise."

They talked about the skull and bones and people she had talked to about it. She had a list of missing persons from two counties; none looked promising. She had spread her search radius to include five more counties. "Of course" she explained, "no one has good records back to the 1970s. It's as if everyone who disappeared just left of their on accord."

Grissom told of one case of three skulls found buried in a basement in the east. Months later, anthropologists determined that all three were "war souvenirs" from World War Two, kept on a shelf for years, until one day the wife decided to bury them in the basement, found by a new owner a decade later. He laughed as he told the story. "Your man in Alabama was the person who got it right. Tracked down the widow in a retirement home and heard the story."

"How do you know this?" Sara asked.

"Heard him at a conference." He said. "You are keeping notes? You can write this up for a conference, seminar, even a journal article."

She laughed. "Only if we find who this was! And the guy with the letters behind his name gets the recognition, not a low level investigator."

He turned into a driveway. Yellow tape surrounded the house and yard and one lone policeman got out of his car.

"Hey, Chuck. I brought help. Should take another hour." Grissom greeted the man. The man touched his cap and returned to his car.

The house was dark and Grissom handed a flashlight to Sara. "Body was in the bedroom back there. I need to finish the bathroom and the kitchen."

"Tell me what to do."

Grissom passed her gloves. "You can watch."

"If I help, unofficially, you will finish sooner. I can lift fingerprints. I can bag evidence you find. Anything I do, you need to sign." She snapped on the gloves. "Powder? Or evidence bag?"

He smiled. "Stay with me." --

She dusted; he lifted. She held small envelopes and large bags as he placed items inside—trash, towels, and bottles from the bathroom. She watched as he used a long swab on drains, tested each for blood, and found none.

"What was used as the ligature?" She asked as they moved to the kitchen.

"Has not been found. Very small. Two lines." He moved fingers across his own neck.

"A necklace, a chain, something like that?"

"Smooth, like a wire."

She snickered. "As in godfather style?" Sara made a motion to surround his neck. He gave her one of those looks she had seen before and never sure exactly what it meant.

The kitchen was clean, all dishes were in the dishwasher--clean, the sink empty, the trash can lined with a fresh bag.

"Don't tell me the friends and neighbors cleaned up in here."

Grissom's face gave her the answer. "Yes. They were in here cleaning up the house, getting ready for guests when the police got here. I think the captain freaked on them." He looked at the empty trash can. "Let's check the big one outside."

The household had one black rolling can next to the garage—top propped open and half full. Sara held her flashlight over the container while he reached in for a plastic bag. Opening it, both grimaced at the smell.

"Not fresh," he commented. Inside were remnants of days old trash, food scraps and newspapers. He pulled out a newspaper several days old. Banana peels stuck to it. "Maybe the most recent bags have been taken in."

In the darkness near the bottom Sara's flashlight reflected against something. "Hey, what's that?" She stretched to separate plastic bags.

Coiled in half and stuck between plastic bags, was a narrow white wire in a familiar shape. His gloved hand pulled it from its hiding place. A coat hanger. He smiled. Not just any coat hanger, but one with a rusty red looking stain.

Their eyes met across the container. "Get a bag for me, please." By the time she had one ready, he had pulled two full bags from the bottom. "All this goes back. We'll see what we find."

She had the fingerprint powder and brush in her hand and started on the lip of the top. She said a curse word as dozens of prints showed up, usually one on top of the other. "Who took prints?"

"A tech came in to help. I think there were fourteen people in the house when I got here. They said they stayed out of the bedroom."

"Looks like they all touched the trash can, too." She was lifting prints with a quick, practiced technique. Grissom stopped to watch.

"How long have you been doing this?" He asked. She was fast.

Her smiled flashed across the can but she never looked up. "Being a girl means you have to be good at something. Prints and cars." She stopped. "Look. This one's different."

She was right. One clear print had an obvious line across its center. An imprint, a depression made across the middle. He grabbed the coat hanger and held it against the mark. Again, their eyes met.

"Let's hope we can find who this belongs too."

The back of his vehicle was filled with evidence and trash bags. "One stop and I'll leave this for the others. I have two days to spend with you." He smiled at her. "What if I drop you at my place?" He pressed buttons for the air to blow on high, more buttons opened the windows. The plastic bags did not completely enclose the smell of days old garbage.

In the early morning darkness, Las Vegas looked like a giant Christmas tree. He drove along the Strip, pointing to new hotels and construction towers. When she stifled a third yawn, he made a couple of turns and stopped in front of an old building.


	3. Chapter 3

**A Few Days in Las Vegas Chapter 3**

"My place." He pointed to the second floor. "It's a rehab-condo building, old on the outside but new inside." He started to open his door, hesitated, and turned to Sara. "I don't have much company. It—the place isn't really—well, I have my things in there. I have a few bugs I keep. Maybe we should get a hotel room?" The question in his voice caused Sara to laugh.

"Grissom, you have not seen my apartment. And I share it with Paula. We have one bed and two rooms. Just tell me you do have a bed!"

He laughed and got out, came around and opened her door, grabbed her hand and walked to the entryway. "I can not stay. I must get this stuff to the lab. I'll be back as soon as I can." In his doorway, he reached arms around her and kissed her, slowly, stirring up what had been placed on hold.

She pulled away. "Go, go."

He pointed to the kitchen. "Food, in there. Bathroom, bedroom, that direction. Television, remote. Do whatever you want to do." He pointed again.

"Go, hurry back. I'll be here."

After he left, Sara found juice in his refrigerator and several professional journals on the table. She tried not to be too curious, but she was. She drifted around the big room, looking at his butterflies and bugs mounted in frames, checking out his books. Spartan looking, she thought. Then she chuckled. This was the kitchen of a man. Every item looked as if it had come in a matching package set.

After a trip to the bathroom, she decided to shower and change her clothes realizing she had been awake since sometime the day before. She finished the shower, but never completely dressed just pulled a shirt over her head, finding the bed, a folded blanket and a pillow was all she needed to close her eyes. Just for a short nap, she thought.

At some time, she dreamed of a warm body next to hers and moved closer. An arm wrapped around her, startling her out of the fog of sleep. She opened one eye. Grissom was next to her, on his side, one arm under his head, the other around her chest, his breathing regular and slow, in a deep sleep. She snuggled closer bringing her head into the crook created by his chest and arm. Before returning to her own sleep, she wondered, not for the first time, how many other women had shared his bed. He had taken her to this place so quickly and so easily. Nothing was ever easy, especially her life, she thought; she would not think about that now.

Grissom returned to a quiet house—too quiet, he thought, as he walked through the open space of his living and dining room and kitchen. He saw no evidence of the visitor he had left here just two hours ago. Before he found her sleeping across his bed, some fragrance hanging in the air told him she was somewhere and she had showered.

He stood watching her sleep for several minutes before taking a shower and returning to the bed. He smiled as he realized this was the first time they had gone to sleep before sex. With little effort, he pulled covers around both. Before falling asleep, he tried to remember the last time a woman has spent the night in his home. It had been a long time.

Ten years ago he had made the decision to let work be his life. It was easy; his girlfriend had moved away because he would not put her first. He suspected she had another boyfriend lined up. The woman had found him in Vegas several years ago—to introduce her husband and two children. He was relieved to get a prearranged call from Catherine that cut the dinner short.

In the years since, work, research, bugs, and a few other interests had filled most of his time. He had found enough willing women to escort to appropriate events, enough women to date to suppress talk of his sexual orientation, and, becoming more priest-like than some men of the cloth, he restrained and controlled thoughts of a sexual nature after deciding it was easier to place these actions on a hidden shelf in his brain.

Until San Francisco and seeing this girl—_she was a girl_, he thought—with her enthusiasm, her determination, her eagerness. Somewhere in his body, a connection was made, quickly, without thinking. He found a sentiment of what he defined as love, in watching this girl bury a dog. Afterwards, in a small room by the beach, they had consummated this response and he knew, he knew as surely as the sun rose every day, that he had found the love of his life.

He rolled over and found Sara near enough to touch and placed a hand on her abdomen. Funny thing, he thought, neither had spoken the word love to the other. Thinking back, he realized that she had actually stopped him from saying the word. He scooted closer to her. He wouldn't think about what that meant, not now. They would sleep before he showed her his town.

Grissom woke first. If she had moved, it was only to be closer to him. He liked the way her head lay against his chest, her hair spilled across his arm, and those long legs—one crossed his leg just below his—he was well aware of the feeling created by the way her hip and leg nested against him. He did not move.

_A/N--Leave us a note! This story should take about 5 to 7 days to complete._


	4. Chapter 4

**A Few Days in Las Vegas Chapter 4**

Sara woke slowly, realizing she was in a different position, knowing that hours had passed since she stretched across the bed, and now a warm body was smacked against hers. Then she remembered waking at some point and finding Grissom asleep. When she blinked her eyes, she knew he was awake and felt her eyelashes against his chest.

His hand moved to her face. "Hi." She felt his lips against her hair.

The physical desire that consumed them weeks before united them again. At one point he demanded for her to let go, to release what she was holding, to look at him as he moved above her. She was swept across some deep abyss, afraid he would let her go, abandon her to some unseen force. When she climaxed, he stayed with her coaxing with words of passion that brought another wave from deep within her. And finally his breath came as a gasp as he collapsed against her shoulder, his mouth searching for hers.

Sara knew she had experienced a new and different level of passion in her life; it surprised her that so much physical desire came from this man. She was not sure what to do. In her life, she had not been privy to any relationship that involved passionate love; not the desire to be close to someone because you wanted to be there. He had wrapped arms around her while pulling the sheet over them in a snug cocoon. She liked it, being so close that their breath intermingled, their noses touched, and she knew he was smiling by his eyes.

"We can stay here all weekend."

"No," he said. "I want you to see Las Vegas. I want you to see it with me."

Somewhat reluctantly, she pulled her shirt over her head and headed to the bathroom. She knew the door opened while she was in the shower, and found a cup of coffee waiting. Considerate—that was the word she used to describe him to Paula. Not a word she would use to describe anyone else in her life—ever.

He had breakfast food waiting. "Yogurt, bagels, juice. We have dinner reservations tonight." He had told her before she came that he had a "dress up dinner" planned.

He had opened blinds and the sun was high in the sky, passed noon, she thought. "We slept so long, half the day away."

Grissom chuckled. "Vegas wakes up at sundown. One reason I like the night shift. Nothing dull happens in the night. Some big event occurs and things really start popping around midnight." He poured juice and passed a glass to her. "Plus, I have to call in about our strangulation. I know that coat hanger you found was the weapon."

Neither sat down as they ate, instead leaning against his counter, side by side. "Crime of passion?" She asked.

"Maybe, or crime or opportunity. Nothing seemed to be missing or out of place. Husband was at work in full view of dozens of people."

"Sexual activity?" She had learned to use these words instead of saying "sexual assault."

He reached for his phone moving to have her between his body and the counter. She heard the phone ring as he placed a kiss on her lips. He held the phone so she could hear the conversation.

"Brass."

"Any news on our strangulation?" Sara listened as papers were shuffled and statistics of age, time of death, cause of death were given in rapid sequence. He sounds like my boss, she thought. The wire coat hanger matched the neck wounds, but no prints.

"How did you find that? Brown took the trash from the bin."

Grissom's laughed was forced. "Warrick is still learning. He did not go to the bottom."

"Good find on the print, too. Wire fits perfectly. But no match with anyone in the house. I'm sending Catherine and Warrick out to piece some things together from neighbors. Maybe someone will remember something." The man said something about "off days" but Grissom moved the phone away from Sara.

"I'm off. Someone else can finish this one." His eyes met Sara's as she mouthed two words. "Brass, any sign of recent sexual activity?"

A long explanation followed before Grissom ended the call. "You heard most of it. Yes to sexual activity—with the husband the night before. Fingerprint does not match any taken from people in the house."

"It's someone she knew."

He lifted an eyebrow very slightly. "Yeah," he agreed. "Nothing indicates a struggle. For her to be in the bedroom, it indicates she knew him—or her." He left her at the counter with "quick shower." She smiled as he walked away wearing old sweatpants and a soft faded shirt. She might have to replace those pants with something better—boxers, she decided—so she could see those legs.


	5. Chapter 5

**A Few Days in Las Vegas Chapter 5**

They acted as tourists and followed the crowds from one gaudy casino to another, waited in line for an elevator to take them to the top of the landmark tower, walked through a show of antique cars, and watched the fountains dance to music in front of the most expensive hotel in the world.

The casinos they entered were new and cool and filled with gamblers, machines and lights. Grissom pointed out hidden cameras and solemn security men and cages that moved vast sums of money. Neither made a move to drop a coin into the slot machines or to place money on a table.

"It's all so phony," she said. "The lights are dim so no one knows what time it is."

"Smart girl. There are also no clocks."

He took her arm. "Let's go change for dinner."

"I don't dress up often." She stood in front of him, nervous fingers playing with the edge of her top. The skirt stopped above her knees. The color looked good on her. With an unspoken understanding, he had left her to dress in the bedroom both recognizing they would never get to dinner otherwise.

Grissom eased around the kitchen island. His heart rate had increased just watching her walk into the room. "You look beautiful." Her head dropped and he could see the blush creeping into her face. "You really are stunning." He whispered. He had seen her in jeans, dressed in all black at the vineyard dinner; he had seen her naked in bed, but never like this. Amazing, he thought. He twirled his finger and she made a slow circle. "Maybe I need to keep you here. I'm not sure Vegas is ready for you."

She smiled. "You exaggerate." Her fist chucked his shoulder. He caught it as she pulled away. "Get dressed." He did, but not before he had tasted her lips, her neck, and the space revealed by the downward cut of her blouse.

As he showered and dressed, Grissom mulled over what he knew about his date—his lover would be a better description, but for some unsure reason neither had spoken that four letter word. She seemed to enjoy being with him. Certainly, she enjoyed being in bed with him, awake or asleep. And she recognized his need for privacy as he did hers. There continued to be a degree of shyness between them even after the intense intimacy they shared. Even when she had pulled him out of the shower, she had wrapped a towel around his waist.

There were other pieces to this puzzle of Sara Sidle. She never mentioned a family or parents. Even when he spoke of his own mother, she remained quiet, changing the subject. Today, walking around the Strip, he knew she enjoyed being with him. She laughed easily. She would gently touch his arm or take his hand or move close so he could place a hand on her back. Nothing was forced; she did not cling, and she never complained. He knew she was apprehensive, perhaps about her visit, and was doing her best to conceal it.

He hurried to dress. She was waiting.

Sara showed her confidence to the world and let her uncertainties hide behind a smile and a laugh. She had struggled with every part of making this trip to Las Vegas and entering Grissom's home. He made it easy. Work made her secure, sure of herself. He seemed to know this when he had taken her to the scene.

She wandered around his house while he dressed, finally opening a book and turning pages of detailed illustrations of insects.

Her mind played events of the day. She did not like Las Vegas—too fake, too flashy, too many people milling around expecting a free payoff. Nothing was free, she thought. And the weather—nothing like San Francisco's ocean scented breeze or flower fragranced air. She did like him—more than like, but she did not put a word to her feelings. She had been more assertive than she had ever been the day she had kissed him and within an hour they were buying condoms and checking into the motel. She still found it hard to believe.

Buying this red outfit had caused another episode of insecurity. The saleslady said it was perfect. It did feel wonderful; with thin straps crossing in the back, the front dipping much lower than anything she had ever worn. She purchased a new type of bra just for the blouse which barely covered up what needed covering. Paula and the saleslady insisted it was what she needed to wear and what her bug man needed to see.

Grissom appeared quickly and quietly. She took a sharp breath as she looked at him unaware at how similar their thoughts were. She had never seen him dressed as he was tonight—a dark jacket and pants, a white shirt and a tie, and when she touched his jacket, she knew it was expensive.

Dinner was an elegant event at the top of a new hotel overlooking the lights of Las Vegas. Sara had to agree it was beautiful. They ate Asian food prepared for flavor and visual appeal and like none she had ever eaten; she was all too familiar with low cost Chinese and Japanese restaurants in San Francisco.

They talked a little about work, about books and movies, his bugs and butterfly collections, and, finally, he talked about Las Vegas. He loved the place, the people, the quirkiness of events. "It's the wild wild west in modern times. Anything can happen here." He said he could get her a position in the department. They could work together.

She hedged her response. She would not say she did not like his city, but she did say she wanted to see more of it.

"Tomorrow, we'll drive to one of the parks—Red Rocks Canyon. Just twenty minutes away and a totally wild, natural area. You will like it."

Across the table, Sara watched his eyes sparkled as he laughed, eyes that darkened when he became serious, guarded as he answered a question, and when she spoke, his eyes softened. When dessert and coffee was offered, both shook their heads. They were out of the restaurant, in his car, and driving out of town in minutes.

"I want to show you another place." He said as he left the interstate.


	6. Chapter 6

**A Few Days in Las Vegas Chapter 6**

In a few miles, they were driving into mountains, city lights disappearing behind them. He stopped at a pullout, an unseen scenic view opened up below them, but he had not stopped for that particular view. He held her hand and pointed up. The sky above them opened to stars from horizon to horizon. Artificial light was blocked by mountains yet the area was bright.

"Oh," she said. He wrapped an arm around her, the soft cloth of his sleeve bringing warmth to her back and shoulder. They leaned against the car and he pointed to constellations, leaning close so she could follow his finger. She let him talk for several minutes before she shifted her eyes from the sky to him. He was so involved in speaking that he twitched when her lips touched his face, her hand cupped his chin, and turned his face to hers. Stars were forgotten for several minutes.

When he backed away, he said, "This must be a good make-out spot."

She giggled. "I haven't 'made out' in years."

He kissed her making no pretense of what else he wanted as his hands moved along her spine, touched her hips, and lifted the edge of her top. His fingers stopped against her skin.

"Let's go home." He opened the door for her and stepped back to take several deep breaths before getting in to drive.

He got them home, the car in the garage, and the front door open before he would touch her again. They both stumbled over their own and each other's feet in their haste to get to the bedroom. His coat came off somewhere in the living room. Her giggles started when he tried to figure out how her shirt was tied along her back. She reached under her arm and unzipped something. He smiled. Then he had to figure out another bra.

"How many of these things do you own? I mean different ones?" He asked.

His question made her laugh harder. He figured out the skirt and popped at least two buttons from his own shirt before he got it off. At some point, they did make it to the bed. Lust, he thought, this word defined their actions. Hunger, desire, and a half dozen other words came to his mind as he had his hands on her body. She touched him in places that only a lover would ever find—with light feathery fingertips along intimate areas.

Conscious thought processes left him when her legs wrapped around him and he entered her; the arch of her back, a sharp intake for air by one or both brought them to a fast culmination of what he had called lust. Her quiet giggle made him laugh with her.

"I think I can do better than four and a half minutes." He said as she began kissing his face. "We are worse than rabbits!"

"Just be happy I didn't take you to the back seat of your car."

Neither moved to get up or change positions. His fingers moved down her neck, in her hair, and down to her breasts. "You are a beautiful woman, Sara."

Throughout the night, Grissom, being male, curious, and an avid reader of all things, practiced some things he knew—in theory if not in practice—as he and Sara learned and experimented with ways of kissing, different love bites, the use of hands, and a half dozen ways of moving two bodies together. Sara became a willing partner and if she had previous experiences, she kept them to herself—something made him believe that her knowledge was similar to his, textbook and talk.

Sara finally moved from orgasm to sleep with a simple sigh, but Grissom did not sleep so quickly. He lay in his house, in his bed and wondered about the young woman beside him. He sensed that he should be more responsible with this situation, but the fact was he was having a good time, enjoying another person more than he had ever before in his life, and somewhat relieved that she did not question his intentions, made him push these thoughts from his mind.

_A/N--leave us a short note! Thanks for reading. _


	7. Chapter 7

**A Few Days in Las Vegas Chapter 7**

By mid-morning, the two had slept enough to be rested until their hunger, or exhaustion, got Grissom out of bed to make coffee and Sara into the shower. He left coffee in the bathroom for her and called work.

When she walked into the kitchen, finding him talking on the phone, she placed herself within his free arm in such a way that he felt he could keep her there forever. His voice stumbled a few times before he finished the call.

"You look wonderful, feel even better."

"Shower. I'll fix us some food."

When he returned in fifteen minutes, she had cooked an omelet, toasted bread, and cut up fruit for two plates.

He smiled as he ate, saying, "This is the first time I've eaten your cooking."

"Don't expect much—my cooking is simple and usually consists of something I unwrap. I'm not Martha Stewart."

They drove west to Red Rocks Canyon. He had packed drinks and snack foods in a cooler. They made one stop where he bought a pair of hiking boots and socks for her. She tried to protest, but he stopped her with a silent wave.

"You need something to protect your feet for where we are going."

Grissom drove the circle road along the foothills, stopping often, showing her the red, gray and white sandstone mountains, the desert, the highest point along the mountain range, wild donkeys among the Joshua trees and cactus. They walked short trails and found pools of water tucked among rocks and in the shade of boulders. He pointed to a falcon's nest, gave her binoculars so she could watch as the female returned to the nest. Another trail took them into a canyon where water quietly bubbled from the ground and spilled into a rocky creek. They ate snack bars and apples and drank water he had packed.

They found a comfortable place among thorny bushes and crops of rock and talked as old friends. Grissom realized the knowledge she possessed about crime and techniques, especially the newest applications in using computers, was beyond what anyone in the Las Vegas lab knew.

"I'm old," he said. "I like to hold it in my hand, smell it. Climb a ladder and drop a fake body, hear the sounds."

In the middle of this discussion—his back against a boulder, her head on his thigh—he raised his hand. "Shhh—look."

A Bighorn sheep carefully stepped into the shade dappled path leading to water, no more than thirty feet from where they sat. There was no sound for miles. When the sheep stopped, looked behind her, waited a minute, they saw her baby emerge from a hidden crevice.

Sara's fingers pressed into Grissom's leg. For ten minutes, perhaps longer, they watched as mother and baby drank and moved around the creek. The only human movement was breathing and the fingertips that pressed bruises into his skin.

"I can not believe we were so close!" The grin across her face had not gone away since the sheep moved up the rocky mountain.

"That does not happen often," he said. "Usually you will see one at a distance." They had gathered their things and walked slowly along the trail. "Big spider—tarantula." He pointed ahead. It crawled across their path. He was holding her hand when he felt her shiver.

"They are not bad." He said.

She shook her head. "I don't like spiders."

He made a throat clearing sound before speaking. "I guess this is not the time to say I have a pet tarantula in my office."

Sara looked at him with wide eyes. "I hope you are kidding—seriously—they give me the creeps." He could tell she was serious.

He wisely changed the subject. "Golf—tomorrow, early, before you leave." The spider disappeared into desert weeds and shrubs.

"I've never held a golf club in my hand."

He laughed. "That's okay. At least you know it's a club and not a bat."

This time she giggled. "I don't like bats either—you don't have a pet bat, do you?"


	8. Chapter 8

_Two chapter to finish this short story! Enjoy!_

**A Few Days in Las Vegas Chapter 8**

Sara liked the desert mountains, surprised to find this public space so near and so free of excessive tourism of Las Vegas. Seeing the Bighorn sheep almost made her love the place—until the huge spider crossed their path.

She liked Grissom. Everything he did—she liked. The boots were over the top, more money than she would spend in a year for shoes, but he insisted, saying she would wear them for years. A gift, he called them, so she could walk with him.

Back in his house, they prepared dinner, moving around his kitchen as relaxed partners. His boss, Captain Brass, called about the strangulation case. He heard Sara giggle.

"Is this a bad time?" He asked.

Grissom mumbled an answer of "no" when he really meant "yes". A few more words from Brass and his conversation ended. "No match on the fingerprint."

Before they had eaten all the food they had prepared, Sara reached for his hand, reading his thoughts.

"I'm fine. This is perfect."

His blue eyes blazed with light as he pulled her to him, saying her name.

She closed her eyes and placed her mouth against the opening of his shirt, tasting his skin, feeling his heat. She unfastened each button of his shirt, tugging to release it from his jeans. She brought her mouth to his, tasting of dinner wine.

Grissom did not carry her but led her to the bedroom where hours earlier they had thrown covers carelessly across the bed. He shoved them aside before he began removing her clothing. His hands encircled her waist, glanced at her face before moving to her breasts and the pale blue bra she wore. His thumbs moved to the lace edge of her panties. She silently thanked her roommate for insisting she buy these things.

He said "I can't believe how beautiful you are."

She wanted to say _"No, I'm not. No one has ever said those words to me."_ Instead she unhooked her bra and said "Come here."

When he whispered "I've waited for you all my life," his eyes stayed on her face, a slight frown across his forehead. Sara knew something had happened—a history disappeared.

Sara would remember this night as he would remember another time when he watched her in a sunlit room. She felt a wildness in his arms, a process of memorizing his jaw, his lips, his hairline across his neck as she became lost in a tidal wave as her fingers locked onto his curls.


	9. Chapter 9

**A Few Days in Las Vegas Chapter 9**

Grissom let her sleep. Content and breathing that reminded him of a purring kitten, she lay beside and underneath him. After he was asleep, he knew they would move, but now, it felt right to have her like this. He had to fight to keep his arousal in check. He had made love to a woman. He could do it again within an hour. Was it because he had forced his libido into denial for so long that some switch had flipped to the other extreme? He was unsure how to go on—he wanted, no, he hungered for her. Not every minute; he had managed to restrain his urges for most of the day. He did want her and, he smiled at his thoughts, all the time. He knew to lose her would create a crater in his life.

At some point in the time they were together, he realized she sought his touch. Not as some women do, clinging and smothering, but moving near him and waiting for him to reach out.

He shifted his body. Her lashes flickered and she smiled in her sleep. He pulled covers around them. In a few hours she would be gone.

Early sunlight peeked around blinds when he woke to hear the shower. The bed was empty. The bathroom door was open—as invitation, he thought—and naked, he walked in.

Sara was already in the shower, and when she saw him, she pushed open the door.

"Come in."

Grissom knew a change had occurred as he stepped inside. In a shower there were no secrets. He tried; he really attempted mind-control over a certain part of his anatomy. It did not work. Something about soap, this woman, her hands moving over his body, and his hands on her, his own weak knees got them back to the bed, dripping wet, moving together until only wet sheets showed any evidence of the shower.

They lay on the bed entangled in each other. Her fingers played with his hair; his made light circles in the area where her chest and breast made a small cleft.

"We have to move if we are going to the driving range."

"Can't you teach me from the bed?" She giggled.

It was his turn to laugh. "You have exhausted me before noon. As it is, I'll need a nap before I can work."

She rolled up to face him. "You will come for the wedding?"

"I'll be there."

"It's a dress up affair—fancy—formal."

"I'll dress appropriately."

She placed her head on his chest. "My apartment is really small. We don't have an air-conditioner, just fans."

"If you like, we can get a hotel room—you decide."

She was quiet for several minutes. "I'll pay for it."

"No, you will not." He smiled. "I've waited years to spend money on a woman. My trusty travel agent will fix us up."

"It's just old and grubby and not like your place—all white and bright."

"My dear, you light up any place."

He heard her soft giggle. "Maybe I'll paint the walls."


	10. Chapter 10

**A Few Days in Las Vegas Chapter 10**

They did make it to the driving range. A bucket of golf balls, a couple of rented golf clubs, and Grissom was giving her a golf lesson. Simple things like grip, stance, posture, Sara learned quickly. He showed her a swing hitting a ball over two hundred yards.

She stepped up to take his place. "Should I aim for the marker?"

Grissom nodded. "Try for the two hundred marker." He smiled as she gave her hips a slight wiggle, placed the club's head against the ball, and lifted the club. A second later the ball shot from its tee traveling an unseen arc to the three hundred sign before it hit the sign and bounced onto the ground. He placed another golf ball before her.

"Are you sure you've not done this before?"

"Never."

Her swing was perfect again. Five times she hit a golf ball at least three hundred yards. Others noticed and stopped to watch. Grissom heard a bet made between two men. He put another ball in front of her. She grinned.

"How many do you want me to hit?" She asked.

"As many as you want, babe." He was smiling. "Try for ten, but don't overuse your arm."

She hit ten more balls between two and three hundred yards. Money changed hands behind her.

"Are you sure you've never done this?" Grissom asked.

"Promise. But I do shoot a gun. I've played softball and tennis. Eye hand coordination—I've always had it." Her smile spread across her face. "I've never known anyone who played golf."

"You do now. Next time, all day, on the course."

--

Sara packed her carry-on suitcase, gathered all her small things into her shoulder bag, and wore her new boots. Grissom watched. He knew if he touched her they would not leave the house in time for her flight.

She promised to call as did he.

He promised to be in San Francisco a day before her roommate's wedding.

She said she would return for another golf lesson, for another walk in the desert.

He knew it was easier for her to leave him.

She thought it was easier for him to stay.

She told him not to park, just let her out at the terminal. He parked.

Grissom got a pass to walk to the gate and they stood with backs to a wall, waiting for the last boarding call.

"I'll miss you," he whispered.

The announcement for last passenger boarding came.

Sara turned to him, pulled him into a kiss, and broke off smiling. "Go catch your killer, Grissom."

He reached into his pocket and placed a folded paper in her hands. "I'll see you in a few weeks." He watched as she disappeared into the airplane.

--

The plane lifted into the late afternoon sky before she dared look at the letter. One part of her brain insisted that it was just a letter, telling her something he did not want to say. Another part of mind told her it was a goodbye note. Even after he promised to come for the wedding, after he said they would play golf together, she could not shake the feeling of dread as she unfolded the plain paper.

"_Dear Sara, _

_You will find that I can not say words that I know should be spoken. This is what I wish I could say to you, one of Shakespeare's sonnets—_

Shall I compare thee to a summer's day?  
Thou art more lovely and more temperate:  
Rough winds do shake the darling buds of May,  
And summer's lease hath all too short a date;

Sometime too hot the eye of heaven shines,  
And often is his gold complexion dimm'd;  
And every fair from fair sometime declines,  
By chance, or nature's changing course, untrimm'd.

But thy eternal summer shall not fade,  
Nor lose possession of that fair thou owest;  
Nor shall Death brag thou wanderest in his shade,  
When in eternal lines to time thou growest:-

So long as men can breathe, or eyes can see,  
So long lives this, and this gives life to thee.

_I'll see you in a few weeks. I will miss you until then. _

_Sincerely, Grissom_

Sara's eyes watered as she folded the note and closed her eyes.

--

"We fingerprinted everyone in that house! We have dusted every surface. I feel like my lungs are coated with dust—no match, nothing." Catherine slumped over the table, exhaustion showed in her eyes, then she sat up and reached for another comparison card.

Grissom watched from the doorway. In four days, not much had been found. All the garbage had been sifted and searched. The coat hanger had cut into the victim's neck indicating strength or anger or rage. He had talked to Sara twice tonight, miles apart and stuck in offices catching up. She had just made one suggestion.

"Where is the list of everyone who was in the house?" Catherine slid a paper across the table. "List of neighbors?" Another paper came his way. "Fingerprint list?"

"What are you thinking?" The question came from Warrick Brown, still a bit embarrassed about not finding the coat hanger.

"We missed someone. The victim knew who did this. She let him or her into the house, took him into the bedroom." He passed the sheets of paper to Warrick. "Cross check as I call out names."

Near the bottom of the list, four names were not on the fingerprint list.

"Who are these?" Grissom asked.

Catherine looked up. "Four kids—standing outside." She began to sort fingerprint cards. "They are not here."

"Get the tech in here." Grissom said.

Within minutes the woman appeared, along with Captain Brass.

Grissom breathed through his mouth, silently chanting a mantra of "be calm, be calm."

"Why don't we have fingerprints on these four?"

The woman chewed on a fingernail. She looked at Brass before answering, "They were kids in the yard, just looking. No one brought them in."

Brass said, "We'll get someone out there now."

Grissom's attention went back to the tech; his voice softened. "You did nothing wrong. As a matter of fact, you did an excellent job." He handed her the print from the trash can. "Can you make four copies of this one?"

Later, he was able to share the rest of the story with Sara. He heard her laugh as he related details. "Seventeen years old, a high school senior, sex in the afternoon with a real Mrs. Robinson—without the daughter, was Brass' description. Until the victim decided it needed to end. When she laughed at the boy, he twisted a coat hanger and she was dead. Never meant to kill her." He heard Sara sigh over the phone.

"Isn't that what they all say?" She asked.

_A/N: Next one, San Francisco! And a wedding--leave us a review for the conclusion (or for the entire story), suggest a title for the next one!! Thanks._


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